Vampire Lover. CHARLOTTE LAMB

      Vampire Lover

      Charlotte Lamb

      

www.millsandboon.co.uk

      CONTENTS

       CHAPTER ONE

       CHAPTER TWO

       CHAPTER THREE

       CHAPTER FOUR

       CHAPTER FIVE

       CHAPTER SIX

       CHAPTER SEVEN

       CHAPTER EIGHT

      CHAPTER ONE

       CLARE met Denzil Black the day he first arrived in town. It was autumn, the leaves turning brown, crimson and russet on the trees, the skies a deep purply blue as a storm blew up out of the west.

      The wind rattled the agency window, and the lights flickered. Clare frowned, her blue eyes anxious, hoping they were not going to have a power cut; they often did during stormy weather, when power lines blew down. Well, it was closing time, anyway; she might as well go home. She got up from her desk and began putting on her coat, brushing her blonde hair out of the way.

      The door from the street opened and the wind blew into the office. Clare looked round, beginning to apologise politely.

      ‘I’m sorry, we’re just closing. Could you come back tomorrow?’

      She had already turned off the main lights; the room was rather dim. She couldn’t see much of the man standing just inside the door, except that he was very tall, with black hair, and wore a long, dark coat which was flapping around him in the wind.

      ‘I saw your board outside a house at the top of Hunter’s Hill,’ a deep voice said. ‘A large Victorian house, set back from the road—is it still for sale?’

      ‘Dark Tarn,’ Clare said slowly, trying to make out his features in the shadows. All she could see was the glitter of his eyes staring back at her. ‘Yes, it’s still for sale,’ she said, suppressing an odd shudder that ran down her back. It must be the wind that made her suddenly so cold.

      Nobody wanted to buy the old house on the edge of the town. It was far too big for the average family. It could be turned into a small hotel or a nursing home but was in bad repair and would need a great deal of renovation before anyone could move into it. It had been on the house agency’s books for two years now; her father would be thrilled if she could sell or even rent it.

      ‘Well, can you show me round the place?’ the stranger asked.

      ‘Yes, certainly, would tomorrow morning suit you? At, say...eleven?’ Clare casually picked up her desk diary and a pen, hiding her eagerness to make this sale. That was easy for her; she was an ice blonde, pale-skinned, even her eyes a light blue, very cool.

      ‘I’m going to be busy all day tomorrow,’ the dark man said. ‘How about now?’

      A warning bell rang in Clare’s brain. Coldly polite, she said, ‘I’m sorry, that isn’t possible.’

      Her father had impressed it on her years ago that it was not safe for her to accompany a strange man to view an empty house. They always made careful arrangements so that she had someone else with her on these occasions; usually her brother, Robin, these days, now that her father was semi-retired. Robin was just nineteen, a student at the local technical college, taking a course in business management, but he was large and muscular, he played rugby for the college and was a keen gymnast. Clare always felt very safe with Robin around.

      ‘What do you mean, isn’t possible?’

      The curt question made her stiffen. ‘We operate from nine until five-thirty, Mr...?’

      ‘Black,’ he said in that deep yet smoky voice. ‘Denzil Black. Is the manager here?’

      ‘I am the manager!’ She felt his disbelief and added coldly, ‘This is my agency.’

      ‘The sign over the door says the agency is run by a George Summer!’

      ‘That’s my father, but he has retired, and I run the agency now!’

      ‘I see.’ She felt him staring at her, his eyes glittering in the semi-darkness. ‘Well, Miss Summer...or are you married?’

      She hesitated, feeling an odd, inexplicable, almost atavistic reluctance to tell him her name. Something about him had begun to bother her; she suddenly wanted to get rid of him as soon as possible. ‘I’m Clare Summer,’ she said shortly.

      ‘Not married, then?’

      ‘No,’ she almost snapped. ‘Look, I’m sorry, Mr Black, but I really can’t spare the time to show you the house tonight.’

      His tone was incisive. ‘Miss Summer, either you want to sell Dark Tarn or you don’t. I am going abroad for several months, tomorrow. Tonight is the only time I could view the house. Either show it to me now or we’ll forget it.’

      She hesitated, biting at her lower lip. Neither her father nor her brother would be at home yet. They had both gone to watch a rugby game in the next town and wouldn’t be back for a couple of hours. She could ask her sister, Lucy, to drive to Dark Tarn to meet them, of course. Lucy would be home from work by now; she taught at the local primary school and was always home by five o’clock.

      ‘Make up your mind,’ Denzil Black said impatiently. ‘I have my lawyer in the car; Helen Sherrard, I expect you know her—I wanted her to see the house too, but I don’t want to keep her waiting out there much longer.’

      Clare gave a faint sigh of relief. ‘Oh, Helen! Yes, of course I know her. Very well, Mr Black, I’ll take you over to Dark Tarn now, but I have another appointment at seven, and I can’t be late for that. We’ll have to make this a rapid viewing.’ She turned to the filing cabinet, quickly flicked through the files until she found the one on Dark Tarn, took a set of keys from a locked box on the wall and locked up both the cabinet and the key safe again. Before she left she glanced at herself in a mirror hanging on the wall while she buttoned her dark red winter coat, which had a shawl collar and fell to mid-calf.

      ‘Your coat is almost Victorian,’ drawled Denzil Black, watching her. ‘It suits you.’

      It was a backhanded compliment; she gave him a dry look. ‘Thank you.’ So, he thought she was old-fashioned, did he? No doubt he thought he was insulting her, but he was wrong. Clare didn’t object to the description at all, especially from a man like him.

      Oh, he was attractive: her body had felt the magnetic pull of his attraction as soon as he’d walked in here. But Clare had learnt long ago not to trust men, especially attractive men. Life had always spoilt them; you were a fool if you got involved, you were asking to get hurt. You had to keep them at a distance, freeze them off. Clare was an expert at that by now.

      She checked that her desk drawers were all locked, collected her bag and an umbrella, and walked towards Denzil Black. His face still in shadow, he opened the door into the street for her.

      ‘I have to set the burglar alarm and lock up,’ Clare said.

      ‘I’ll wait by my car.’

      Clare took in the sleek grace and power of the black machine. She